


A Flowering Rose

by AidansQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi, Oberyn is a massive flirt, Sansa is aged up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/pseuds/AidansQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never knew intimacy could be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rose in Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just so everybody knows, I've aged Sansa up to nineteen in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Highgarden is beautiful in the summer, flowers bloom for miles and miles across the expanse of land surrounding it. As the litter pulls up before the wide double doors to the hold, Sansa peers outside. She and Willas had only been married a month, and now for the first time she would see Highgarden. This was to be her new home, she thinks as a servant helps her climb out of the litter, her feet stepping down onto gravel. The stone walls were covered in thick green vines, flowers growing strong between the cracks, every shade of color and some Sansa has never seen before.

               Her husband steps beside her and offers her his elbow to which she takes, and the two walk formally into the great hall. He gives her a tour of the castle, lets her explore whatever she wanted.

“You are the Lady of Highgarden now,” he smiles softly at her, “and in your hands I place the reins milady. Change what you wish, do what you want. My home is now yours as well and I would have you feel as comfortable as you like here.”

               Living at Highgarden was better than Kings Landing, Sansa had to admit. Her husband was good to her; he was faithful and kind and took all his meals with her. He was a gentle lover though their sex life was formal and practical. It was meant to breed children and provide heirs. Sansa enjoyed her duties as the Lady of the house, she spends her time with the steward who clears the expenses with her, tends to the servants chores for the day and makes preparations for the meals.

               In her spare time she sits on the balcony overlooking the garden and sews, making odds and ends for Willas and even Margaery from time to time. Willas is a stiff man, but a kind one. She wishes she could get to know him better, and liked to watch him from the balcony as he rode his horses through the glen, and even sometimes he would invite her down to help him feed the hawks.  Her life was finally peaceful; there were no more horrors behind her eye lids when she slept at night. The only thing they lacked was love, and that was something Sansa was willing to live with if it meant she could live in peace here at Highgarden.

“My lady,” Willas tells her one morning over breakfast, setting his tea cup down on a saucer before meeting her gaze, “We will have guests arriving in a week’s time. Prince Oberyn Martell’s party is returning to Dorne and he has sent word he would like to visit with us before he goes.”

Oberyn Martell, it was a name she was familiar with but never formally met the owner of said name. She’d seen him many times in passing, and at Margaery’s wedding, gloating before the Lannisters while his paramour fed him pieces of fruit from a bowl on the table. They had forbid her presence but he brought her anyways, and secretly Sansa cheered him on.

               She is surprised they let him leave after Joffrey’s murder, but since they discovered that Tyrion Lannister was the culprit she imagines that is why they released him. She hoped he wouldn’t be bringing that awful head, the one he took from Gregor Clegane. Sansa hadn’t been there to see the fight but she heard it was bloody and brutal, and that Prince Oberyn nearly died in the process. In the end he took Clegane’s head and for a fortnight he carried it on the tip of his spear, and displayed the head for all to see. 

“I will see to the preparations My lord,” Sansa says primly, feigning a soft smile politely.

“Good,” Willas says cheerfully, a boyish smile curving his lips, “Would you like to go riding with me today?”

“I…” Sansa trails off, “I am not a very good rider My lord.”

“Oh,” Willas seems to dim a little at this response but then brightens once more, “I see…but I can teach you.”

“If you so desire of me My lord,” Sansa says politely.

“Sansa,” Willas says softly, “I want you to do as you please here…if you don’t want to go riding with me you don’t have too.”

“I am not overly fond of riding my lord,” Sansa admits, “forgive me.”

“Its fine,” Willas says, looking slightly defeated, “I’ll go on my own then. I’ll return for lunch…shall we eat in the gardens today?”

“Yes,” Sansa nods with a soft smile, “I will have the servants prepare your favorite.”

“Excellent,” he says cheerfully and stands, taking his cane up in his hand and making his way down the stables. Sansa watches him go and worries silently, he was a stubborn man and he shouldn’t be out riding anymore. His ailment vexes him greatly, and though he knows that his bad leg will ache for riding today he’ll do it anyways. She would have to talk with him later about it she thinks, though she doesn’t like the idea of overstepping with him. Margaery could tell him anything she liked, she was his sister. Sansa was only his new bride and they’d hardly been married a month.

               She sets about the business of preparing the household for guests. It is tedious work and she has to debate what to prepare. The party was dornish, and her mother never taught her how to prepare a household to receive dornish guests. So she took a chance and had them stock up on dornish food and wine, and had the guest rooms prepared for the Martell family. There was an actual _prince_ coming to Highgarden, and she needed to make sure that the entire castle was scrubbed top to bottom before he arrived.

               Willas found it amusing to watch too, his new bride was constantly busy with the arrangements. He reassured her that he was good friends with Oberyn Martell, and that Oberyn wouldn’t mind a spot of dust on a table one bit. Oberyn lived in the _sand_ , he would tell her, and if he can live surrounded by sand then dust wasn’t going to bother him at all.

“I want the house to be presentable,” Sansa would tell him in reply, and fret when the tapestries weren’t ironed correctly or the seams were all wrong on Willas’s doublet. “My love,” she would say softly, “I asked the servants to prepare the blue doublet, the one with the gold roses on it for this evening. Prince Oberyn will be here soon, they say he’s only just down the road.”

“And I wanted to wear the _green_ one Sansa,” he says, catching her by the elbows and kissing her forehead with a smile on his face, “you fret too much over me my lady. Please…go upstairs and get changed. I can handle the rest of this from here.”

               Sansa obeys if not hesitantly. She changes into the gown she originally meant to match Willas’s blue doublet because her green one wasn’t pressed. The fabric is made of deep blue brocade with golden roses woven into the fabric of the skirt, making it look as if golden rose petals were fluttering to the floor around her.  She swept her hair up in a fashion akin to Highgarden, curling the ends so that they fell down her back in a wave of red fire.  When she met Willas down at the entry way she stood beside him and held her chin high as the party pulled up short before the gates.

“We look like a mismatched water painting,” Sansa mutters quietly to him, much to Willas’s amusement.

“My love,” he says softly, “you look _ravishing_. No one will notice that we do not _match_ , they will to busy staring at my beautiful wife.”

“My friend,” Oberyn’s voice is deep and rich, his dark curls had grown out around his ears since the last time Sansa had seen him, and there was a streak of silver shot through it. His obsidian eyes were depthless, and when he met Sansa’s gaze she blushed. He was handsome though twice her age, and just a head taller than her.

“Oberyn,” Willas smiles as he shakes his friends hand, “I must introduce to you my lovely new bride…Lady Sansa.”

“My lord,” Sansa curtseys politely and blushes even brighter when Oberyn catches her hand in his, brushing his warm lips over her knuckles.

“My lady,” he says with a short bow and sly smile, “Willas has been modest in his talk of you…you are more beautiful than the sun on the summer sea.”

“My lord is too kind,” Sansa smiles, “Welcome to our home.”


	2. A Rose Like No Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

They have a feast in honor of the prince, and it lasts well into the night. She notices friendliness between her husband and Oberyn that leads her to wonder if there was ever more between them. She knew that Loras preferred men over women, and silently wondered if perhaps her husband felt the same. It made her realize how very little she knew of Willas despite the month they’ve spent together. They’ve never really tried to get to know each other; she hadn’t even known that Oberyn was a good friend of his.

“My love,” Sansa says as they prepare for bed that evening, her eyes drifting over his form as he changes into his dressing gown.

“Yes?” he asks, climbing into bed slowly, easing off of his bad leg with a sigh of relief.

“Might I ask you something…personal?” Sansa asks tentatively.

“Anything my lady,” he tells her, “Ask away.”

“I know that Loras….prefers men…” Sansa says hesitantly, “and I couldn’t help but notice the closeness of your friendship with Prince Oberyn.”

Willas smiles softly, blowing out the candle beside the bed. He lays back in the dark beside her, and Sansa can hear his breathing as he answers, “Are you asking if Oberyn and I are lovers?”

“Yes,” Sansa says quietly, a blush coloring her cheeks.

“Yes,” Willas admits, “when we were younger we were lovers and occasionally when he and Ellaria visit. Does that bother you?”

“No,” Sansa says softly, “are you still lovers?”

“No,” Willas tells her, “not if you don’t want me too.”

Sansa has no answer for that at first. It takes her a few moments to decide what she says next, “I would not object if that is what you prefer. I would wish you no unhappiness.”

“Would it help for me to explain?” Willas says lightly, turning on his side to look at her, “I think you misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand?” Sansa blinks at him in the dark, turning to face him as well.

“I prefer both men _and_ women alike. It would bring me no great discomfort to turn Oberyn away from my bed but he is a dear friend of mine. If you wish me to refrain from his bed I shall.”

“No,” Sansa shakes her head, “I wish you to do as you please.”

Willas smiles at her, kissing her tenderly, “you are a kind and generous wife to me.”

“I endeavor to please my lord,” Sansa smiles softly in the dark as he kisses her again.

 

               The following morning she dines with Willas for breakfast but Oberyn and his party do not join them till near noon. The first time she has a proper conversation with Oberyn Martell is when she is out on the terrace eating lunch with his paramour Ellaria, who is telling her about Dorne. 

“You must come and visit sometime,” Oberyn says as he takes a seat beside his paramour, “I think you would enjoy it. Willas tells me you are fond of lemon cakes. Dorne is known for the sweetness of our lemons.”

“I would be honored my lord,” Sansa says politely, trying to ignore the way he smiles as he bites into a strawberry. It was almost sensual the way he does it, and Sansa wonders if it was deliberate. Willas joins them on the terrace and takes a seat beside her. He breaks into a hearty conversation with Oberyn about a pair of destriers he recently bought while Ellaria requests Sansa show her the gardens.

 

“You like it here?” Ellaria asks as they walk the cobble stone walkway that weaves between the rose bushes.

“Oh yes,” Sansa smiles softly, “It’s very beautiful.”

“Dorne is similar,” Ellaria says, “We have wide green palm trees and exotic flowers that decorate the whole court yard of the Water Gardens. Cool crystal ponds alive with water lilies and in the summer…let me tell you…those ponds are wonderful to have.”

“I can only imagine,” Sansa smiles, “We have a lake just over the hill there,” Sansa says as she motions to a point in the distance, “Willas and I go swimming there once in a while.”

“I think I would like to see this lake before we leave,” Ellaria smiles, “It sounds delightful.”

“Oh it is,” Sansa says, happy to find a topic she actually enjoys discussing, “There are these blue roses growing near the pond…they remind me of the winter roses that grow in the north. Willas said that if we could obtain a few of them he might be able to grow them here in Highgarden for me.”

“That would be lovely,” Ellaria smiles with a nod, “and how are you and Willas getting on?”

“Fine,” Sansa smiles, “We’re fine.”

“That’s good…I know that arranged marriages can be difficult,” Ellaria says, watching the younger woman’s face curiously.

“Yes,” Sansa nods, “Willas is a good husband to me.”

 

* * *

 

“She walks as if she has a garden rake stuck up the back of her dress,” Ellaria comments lightly as she sprawls over the bed on her stomach, laying her chin on Willas’s bare stomach, “she is very proper isn’t she? How are you two doing so far?”

“We’re fine,” Willas says softly, curling his fingers into Ellaria’s hair, “She’s very proper…and well mannered…well educated.”

“You speak as if your discussing a business arrangement,” Ellaria says dryly, “I am referring to the marital bed.”

“She is young,” Willas admits, “and inexperienced, I would not frighten her away with anything… _complicated_.”

“Yet she willingly gives you permission to come here and share Oberyn’s bed?” Ellaria quirks an eyebrow, “I wonder if she even understands what that entails.”

“I imagine she does,” Willas says as he makes room for Oberyn to lay on his other side, “she knows of Loras’s exploits and understand what they mean.”

“She is a very beautiful young woman,” Ellaria comments with a glint in her eye as she catches Oberyn’s gaze before looking at Willas, “I wonder if she would join us?”

“Oh _no_ ,” Willas laughs, “Sansa is a proper lady she can’t even bear for us not to match in public… she needs the linens to match accordingly with the dinner plates…she won’t even go riding with me…she feels it’s unladylike. I seriously doubt she’d be willing to leave the martial bed, it would go against everything she was taught.”

“That alone,” Ellaria says with a wicked smile, “Is more than enough reason for her to do so. How does she know what she wants if she never tries anything? We must convince her to join us.”

 “Good luck with that,” Willas smirks, sliding his tongue against Ellaria’s, “she’ll never go for it.”

“My Oberyn is a good lover,” Ellaria grins at Oberyn over Willas’s shoulder, “What do you think my love?”

“She is beautiful,” he agrees, “but I will not touch what belongs to another man unless he agrees to it.”

“If she is willing,” Willas nods, “I wouldn’t mind. I would though say that Sansa has suffered more than her share at Kings Landing. I told you of what they did to her earlier. I don’t want to frighten her away from me. We’ve only just reached a point where she trusts me enough to sleep beside me at night rather than in her own bed chambers.”

Oberyn smiles that sly smile of his, pressing kisses to Willas’s shoulder, “I will be gentle with her,” he says, “she will know no fear of me.”

“My Oberyn will sway her to our side,” Ellaria grins slyly up at Willas, “No woman can resist his charm. It will be good for her too…she is too stiff…too formal…it makes me wonder what is going on in that head of hers. Whether she is truly happy or if she’s only pretending for the sake of propriety.”

 


	3. A Rose In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Her husband did not join her in bed that evening but it didn’t surprise her. She gave him permission to lay with Oberyn if that was what he wished, but it did hurt a little that he’d jump so soon at the chance. She wondered if he’d ever sleep in her bed at all while Oberyn is here. He probably wouldn’t, she thinks quietly to herself. She is not a skilled lover; she only knows the few things she was taught growing up. Willas wasn’t a passionate man with her either, but then again they hardly knew each other. She wondered what Willas was like when he had his defenses down, she wondered if they would like each other better that way. When he lay in her arms he is gentle with her when she wants him rough, and quick when she wants slow. He does not sate the fire in her at night, not always. This was to be expected though, she knew. He would take his pleasure in her to fill her with child, sex was a necessity and not for the pleasure of the act.

Still…

She wanted something more in their relationship. She was jealous she had to admit to herself, that her husband was in the bed of another man instead of being with her. It made her feel unwanted; it made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. She expected him to go at some point but not the very next evening. It was like he couldn’t wait to get out of her bed and into his. She would not let herself harbor feelings of resentment towards the prince (though secretly she did even if she won’t admit it to herself.)

               When morning came she set about her day as usual, wearing a pressed gown of light blue to match her eyes, her red hair twisted into the typical fashion of Highgarden. She dealt out the servant’s chores, saw to the steward’s ledger and ordered the food needed for the week’s requirements.  The castle was in top shape, the laundry was being done and the ledgers were sorted. Her chores complete she broke her fast out on the terrace and watched the swans flutter and swim in circles out on the pond in the center of the garden. This place was like a tropical paradise compared to Winterfell, even compared to Kings Landing.

“May I join you?” His voice interrupts her thoughts and she glances up at him, smiling politely.

“Of course Milord,” Sansa says, motioning to the chair across from her and sending for a servant to bring him breakfast.

“Please,” he begins as he smiles charmingly at the servant girl, taking the proffered glass of lemon sweet, “Call me Oberyn. Your husband and I are good friends and I would wish that you and I could be friends as well.”

“As you wish,” Sansa says softly, delicately cutting into her omelet. She doesn’t see him watching the way she eats, so meticulous and neat. He smiles behind the rim of his glass as the servant girl sets a plate of food before him with a curtsey before sweeping off to retrieve another pitcher of lemon sweet. “You may call me Sansa if you wish,” she adds after a moment as if an afterthought.

“ _Sansa_ ,” her name rolls over his tongue in a way that sends a thrill up her spine, and she tries to ignore the way she likes him saying her name like that.

“Where is Lady Ellaria?” Sansa asks lightly as she finishes her breakfast.

“Ellaria has gone riding with Willas this morning,” he smiles, “she enjoys horses almost as much as I do.”

Sansa nods, “I understand that you and Willas share a love of breeding horses.”

“Among many other things yes,” Oberyn smiles at her and she doesn’t need to wonder what he was implying by that.

“Do you hawk as well?” Sansa inquires lightly, “Willas is very fond of his hawks.”

“No,” Oberyn shakes his head, “That is one thing that Willas and I do not share. Hawks are few and far between in Dorne.”

 _Stupid…stupid question_ …why did she care if it was stupid or not?

“I understand the wildlife in Dorne varies greatly than here in Westeros. They say the Red Mountains earned their name from the Viper that lives in the cracks of the mountainside.”

Oberyn grins at her, full and bold as he replies, “That is true. The red viper is one of the most poisonous snakes in all of Dorne. They named the Red Mountains after it because the mountainside is infested with them.”

“One must step carefully there I imagine,” Sansa thinks aloud, “and keep a weathered eye out.”

“Oh yes,” Oberyn agrees, “they are very clever.”

Sansa keeps a small smile behind the rim of her glass, his wit was boundless and he never failed to steal a self-serving compliment about himself even if it was only meant playfully. His reputation preceded him and everyone knew his nickname. She hadn’t actually meant to imply anything, but Oberyn took that train of thought and ran with it before she could stop it.

               She takes him out to the lake because he requests it, and the shoreline of the lake all the way around in the warm summer sunlight. He can name almost every flower in the garden, and most of the herbs too. He teaches her the names, some she already knew because she’d been studying and some she learned from him. He talks about their properties because she asks; she wants to be a knowledgeable Lady of the Roses not only in name but in truth. He takes a blue rose which he names _Veilchenblau,_ which was a bluish lavender color with a touch of white at its center. He claims it is good for making tea.

“This one,” he tells her as they approach lavender colored roses with purple hues, “is called a _Neptune_ rose. They use these roses in herbal teas at the citadel where I forged part of my maester’s chain. It is used to aid ailing patients when they are sick with fever or cold. It helps to fight sickness,” Oberyn explains as he twists the blossom into her hair as well. The lavender color is even more vibrant against her dark fiery hair, and she can’t help the way her skin tingles whenever his knuckle lightly brushes her cheek each time he twists a flower into her hair.

“You gave a maester’s chain?” Sansa says curiously, interest in her eyes, “that must have been tedious work.”

“It was,” Oberyn nods, “I forged six chains before I left. By then I had mastered every cure and poison, and knew the name of every plant.”

“Every plant?” Sansa says slyly, a challenge glittering in her eyes.

“Pick one,” he grins as he motions to the plants around them, “and I shall name it for you.”

Sansa glances around, tapping her finger playfully while Oberyn watches her with amused eyes, finally she points to a deep red one. There were many red roses in the garden, and too many of them had different names.  Oberyn walks up beside her, his fingers trailing over the soft petals of a blossom as he speaks, “A _crimson blush_ ,” he tells her softly, “these are often used in tea, and have a unique scent.”

“You really do know them all don’t you?” Sansa smiles, Oberyn stepping towards her with a blossom in his hands. He places it gently in her hands and she twirls it between her fingers as they walk.  When they return to the castle its well past late afternoon, and Willas is with Ellaria in his private solar taking tea. Sansa and Oberyn join them, and they talk of the day’s events until late in the evening, even daring to skip dinner which was a first for Sansa. She felt strange not following the routine, not doing as was expected of her. Willas was amused by it but never said anything, he wasn’t even hungry though they did snack on cakes and wine throughout there sitting.

* * *

 

               “You enjoyed yourself today I think,” Willas laughs as they sit together in the bath, his deft fingers plucking rose blossoms from her hair.

“Oberyn knows every single name of every flower and herb in that garden I think,” Sansa smiles, leaning back against her husband. The warm water rushes up against her as she does, soft white bubbles swirling around them.

“He helped me pick many of those plants,” Willas agrees as he presses kisses to her shoulder, “he is a brilliant man. Did you enjoy his company today?”

“Yes,” Sansa admits softly, “He was very pleasant to be around.”

Willas smiles against her skin, his fingers trailing over her breasts as he lightly pinches her nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, “My love…” he says softly near her ear, “If it please you…I would not mind should you desire him.”

“He is your lover not mine,” Sansa laughs, “I would not take your lover from you.”

“I would be most willing to share him with you,” Willas says near her ear, teasing her ear lobe between his teeth. He has never been so hands on with her before, and a wetness pools between her thighs because of it. The idea of Oberyn Martell being her lover is almost frightening, he has such a presence that she would be as nervous as a virgin should she take him to bed.

“My love,” Sansa murmurs softly, “Make love to me.”

“As my lady commands,” he murmurs, his left hand sliding between her legs, fingers pressing between her folds to find her slick with need. “My lady is wet for me.”

“Oh yes,” Sansa breaths, “please Willas…please…” she whispers as she shifts, his cock in his hands as she guides herself down onto him. It is awkward; they have never made love like this before. Her back pressed to his chest and her legs spread on either side of his, mindful of his bad leg.  She rocks her hips against his, pleased to hear his pleasured groan when she does. She doesn’t quite know what she’s doing exactly, but follows his lead when he grabs her hips and guides her, whispering encouragements as the pressure builds low in her abdomen. “Yes…” she pants softly, “Yes my love…yes…”

               When he spends himself in her, she relaxes against him, her body still wound tight and unsatisfied. She doesn’t say anything though, she isn’t sure she should. She doesn’t want him to feel as though he fails her in the marriage bed. That night she lay in bed beside him and she wonders. She wonders what it would be like to have a different lover, and if that different lover would be different from Willas. Would that different lover touch her the way she touches herself when she’s alone, the way that makes her keen in pleasure?

 


	4. A Rose of Delicate Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

Her mind rolls over the idea again and again as she breaks her fast the next morning. Willas gave her permission to lay with another, to find pleasure in another man.  She would have to be careful; she would have to drink moon tea to ensure no child would come of it. Was she actually considering this? _No_ , it was madness to think such things. She was a proper lady and she would not stray from her marriage bed. Though when she sees Oberyn Martell later on that day, his strong and lithe form moving gracefully on the back of one of Willas’s prized destriers she couldn’t help but imagine it. Oberyn was graceful and talented, with clever, deft fingers. She loved a man’s hands, and she loved the dark copper of Oberyn’s skin, and his long elegant fingers made to swing a spear and concoct the most deadly of poisons.

               Later that evening his obsidian eyes met hers over the dinner table and she wondered what he’d been talking about with Willas earlier that day.  She’d spent most of the day with Ellaria, who showed her the art of the breast wraps that they use in Dorne. Sansa couldn’t fathom how Ellaria managed without a corset, but as Ellaria explained, it was _very_ hot in Dorne and a corset would make it worse. Willas laughs, and Sansa tries not to feel that spark of jealousy, white hot as it courses through her veins. She was jealous of another man who was shamelessly flirting with her husband.

               “Come,” Ellaria says, “I will find you one of my dresses to wear, you can try it out with the breast wraps I gave you.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Sansa says nervously as Ellaria catches her hand and pulls her down the long corridor, Sansa hastily excusing herself from the dinner table. She hears Willas and Oberyn laugh, and feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. It was rude to just leave the dinner table like that, but Willas didn’t seem to mind thankfully.

 

               The dresses in Dorne are very different from the ones in Highgarden, Sansa thinks. Ellaria dresses her in a sandstone yellow frock, the color of the Martell house.  It clings to her curves and emphasizes the swell of her breasts. The back is low cut near to her waist, and smoke colored chains connect the fabric from one side to the other. The chain is cool against her back, and feels strange when she walks. It feels like fingers trailing across her skin, like when Willas would draw patterns on her back as they lay naked in bed together, talking about the day’s events. The dress sweeps elegantly behind her when she walks, but Sansa feels so bared in it. She doesn’t want the servants to think her improper. Ellaria reassures her though, that this was the fashion in Dorne and the servants wouldn’t know any better anyways. They have never been to Dorne so how would they know?

               She hoped that Mace Tyrell doesn’t miraculously come home at any minute; she wouldn’t want any of her new family to catch her dressed like this.  She had to admit, the summer air felt so much better against her skin then it did through the light fabric of her dresses. The moonlight shimmers across the fabric of her dress, and for the first time in ages she can breathe properly without the restraint of a corset.

“Beautiful,” Willas murmurs appreciatively as he and Oberyn join them on the terrace deck, “you look ravishing milady.”

“Thank you,” Sansa blushes brightly as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“The fashion of Dorne suits you,” Oberyn says with a nod of approval, his dark eyes slowly drifting over her form, “Ellaria chose well.”

“I must admit,” Sansa says, “I am all the cooler for it.”

“Then we should have more made for you,” Willas says, “I would not want milady to suffer in the summer heat. Perhaps something like Margaery’s? She would never suffer the southern dresses a moment, and designed her own style of dress. When the ladies of the other houses saw it they had their tailors make up the same sort of dresses and suddenly it had become a fashion here in Highgarden.”

Sansa laughs with them, but quietly she wants to roll her eyes. Margaery was a good friend to her, but it would be something Margaery would do, setting fashion trends in Highgarden. She would never be the sort of influential person Margaery is, she would never set fashion trends. She wonders if maybe she did it wrong, maybe her Mother raised her for the northern holds, and here in the south they have an entirely different set of rules?

               She is startled from her revelry as warm fingers trail along her back. Oberyn is standing behind her, gently re-attaching one of the chains to its adjacent hook. “Forgive me,” he says at the look of surprise on her face, “I do not mean to overstep. I merely meant to save you any dishonor should your gown become unhindered.”

“Oh,” Sansa says softly, “Thank you…I hadn’t realized it had become undone.”

“Ellaria has a similar problem when she wears this dress,” he smiles, “I am constantly fixing the chains for her.”

               She lets her eyes drift over the hard lines of his face, his obsidian eyes and the way his dark curls hang around his face. She likes the way the silver in his hair glistens in the moonlight, offsetting his dark copper skin with just the right amount of luminance. He was beautiful she thinks, and she has never truly encountered a beautiful man like him since she first laid eyes on Renly Baratheon on her way to Kings Landing for the first time.  He smiles at her and she knows she’s been caught staring too long. She turns her gaze away from him, and steps around his warm lithe body towards the open terrace doors. Not for the first time was she thinking of touching this man in a way that wasn’t appropriate, or wanting to be touched by him in the same manner.

               They play a couple rounds of cyvasse, drinking dornish wine and musing about the chances of winning every round or so. Oberyn proved a worthy adversary against her husband, who usually never lost a game of cyvasse. After losing what seemed like a mountain of gold and a sapphire ring Willas called it a night. Sansa stayed up though, reading in the library. She never read many books with knowledgeable weight until she met Tyrion Lannister. She’d always read stories about romance and faraway lands. Tyrion’s love of reading made her curious about the kinds of books he read, and now as she reads over the stories of the first men and how they built the wall, she finds these historical documents just as fascinating as a valerian romance.

“ _One Hundred Years At The Wall_ ,” Oberyn muses aloud.

“Oh,” Sansa says, setting the book aside, “forgive me…I didn’t realize you were there.”

“I was looking for a book of herb lore that I haven’t read yet,” he smiles faintly, “I’ve read most of them but you never know…I might come across one.”

“Well your certainly in the right place,” Sansa smiles, showing him where the section of books on herb lore were stored. She has a feeling he knows where they are, but she shows him anyways. It was only polite she thinks, watching him scrutinize the name of each book on the shelves. She makes sure he’s satisfied before she returns to her armchair, curling up in its warmth as she takes up her book again.

“You are interested in the wall?” Oberyn says, sitting down across from her.

“I am,” Sansa says softly, “my half-brother is at the wall.”

“Oh?” Oberyn says curiosity alight in his eyes.

“Yes,” Sansa says, “his name is Jon Snow.”

“I do not believe I have met your half-brother,” Oberyn muses, “but if I am ever at the wall I shall inquire after him.”

               She notices after a time he is reading, and she takes that time to peak at him over the top of her book, watching the intent way his eyes drift over the words of the book in his hands. “This book is wrong,” he says after a pause, his obsidian gaze meeting hers, “some of the translations are wrong.”

“Oh,” Sansa blushes feverently, “I should show that to Willas.”

“No matter,” Oberyn waves it off, “I will show him in the morning. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens? You must forgive me…I tend to stay up most of the night and sleep late into the day. Ellaria is the exact opposite, and I do not want to wake her with my restlessness.”

 

               She lets him lead her through the gardens, moonlight drifting over the slumbering blossoms. Her hand is held snuggly in the crook of his elbow as they walk, and Sansa feels slightly unsettled by this. She doesn’t normally go walking around outside at night, it went against everything her mother ever taught her. It was safe to wander around outside at night, but she wasn’t alone though….surely having Oberyn with her meant it was alright? Willas wouldn’t fret if he knew Oberyn was with her, so maybe this was alright.

“What are you thinking about?” Oberyn asks, breaking through her inner revelry.

“The moon,” Sansa smiles, “the stars….I wonder sometimes…my lord Father once told me that the stars in the sky were the faces of loved ones past.”

“If they are,” Oberyn says as he turns his gaze up to the sky, “then each night that I look upon them I look upon the face of my sister and her children. It is comforting to think that she is there, shining so high above us in the sky. A place of honor, a place that she and her children greatly deserve I think.”

“Tell me about her,” Sansa says softly, “If it please you of course…I don’t mean to intrude…”

“She was beautiful,” Oberyn says softly, his eyes distant as he remembers her happy face, “she was always smiling. Her laughter was like music and everywhere she went she brought joy to her people and to her family.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Sansa tells him, “I would have loved to meet her I think.”

“You would have liked her,” Oberyn agrees, “I think you would have got along very well.”

 

* * *

 

               When they finally retire for the evening, Willas is sound asleep in their bed, snoring peacefully. She climbs in beside him and curls against his side, burrowing for warmth. She could not sleep though as she lay beside her husband. Instead she turns over onto her back and stares at the ceiling, her mind pondering the words of a woman who was hundreds of miles away, probably sleeping on a feather bed and rolling in Lannister gold during her spare time.

_“Some women like tall men, some like short men, some like hairy men and some like bald men. Gentle men, rough men, ugly men, pretty men, pretty girls... Most women don't know what they like until they've tried it, and sadly so many of us get to try so little before we're old and grey…”_

What does that even _mean_? Sansa wonders silently, turning her gaze upon her sleeping husband. Did she like Willas? Yes, he was handsome and sweet and a good husband to her. Did he please her though? Yes, but perhaps not in every aspect of their marriage. She thinks on their lovemaking and sadly finds it lacking. Willas by no means was a poor lover, but he seemed timid with her, like she was fragile and easily broken. Sometimes she wanted more than just the typical sex that they shared, she wanted something daring. The most daring they’d ever tried was in the bath the other night, and even then he seemed hesitant to do it.

               He had given her permission to try new things, and now she knew that she wanted too. If Willas could find pleasure in another’s bed why couldn’t she?  She would be careful and drink moon tea dutifully so as not to shame Willas with a bastard child. _Just this once_ …she thinks to herself, just this once I will do what I want.


	5. The Sweetest of Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The following morning she spends trying to figure out how to go about it. Yet again she relies on one of Margaery’s charms, remembering how Margaery appealed to Joffrey’s tastes in a way that suited him. She would have to appeal to Oberyn’s tastes, and she had no idea how to do that. She knew he liked flowers and herbs but they’d already gone through that. She knew he liked horses but she was a terrible rider. Perhaps she could meet him down at the stables, or wait for him there and groom one of the horses while she did? Maybe if she was clever she could let him see her walking to the stables, and maybe he might follow her there?

               One way or another, this meant she would eventually have to ride a horse. She didn’t like the idea of it, but the outcome would hopefully be worth it. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s ridden a horse to impress a man. When the sun is high in the sky she changes into a light blue frock, soft and airy for summer. She walks down to the stables in the warm sunlight, making sure that she is entirely visible walking across the rolling green grass. The last time she saw him he’d been standing on the veranda, she hoped he would see her.

               She reaches the stables feeling a little dismay. He wasn’t anywhere in sight so maybe he hadn’t seen her at all? The horses are smelly and they rustle about nervously as she picks up a grooming brush, approaching slowly just as her Lord Father had taught her. She makes sure the horse can see her regardless of where she stands so as not to startle it, and slowly brushes out the coat with short even strokes, knocking dust and dirt from the horse’s coat.  She is so absorbed in her task she doesn’t hear him enter the stables, Sansa could never stand to walk away from a dusty _anything_. He is leaning haphazardly against the door frame watching her, and she only realizes his presence when she hears the crunch of straw beneath his feet as he walks towards her.

“Good morning,” he says as he picks up a brush for himself and starts on another horse.

“Good morning,” Sansa says, trying to focus on her task. Her plan had worked but she isn’t sure where to go from here.

“I am surprised to find you here,” he admits as he works, “I was to understand you weren’t keen on horses nearly so much as Willas.”

“I’m not,” Sansa admits sheepishly, “I just….Willas is away so often. I would like to have something more to share with him. I am endeavoring to endear myself to horses as best I can. I thought maybe if I could find something we mutually enjoyed he might spend more time with me.”

“He is a very busy man,” Oberyn agrees, “but you mustn’t force yourself to love what he loves…if it displeases you, don’t change yourself to make others happy.”

“It’s not so much that it displeases me,” Sansa admits, “I’m just a terrible rider…and it’s embarrassing to admit. Willas knows…he’s tried many times to take me out riding with him. When I was younger I had a terrible mishap with a horse, I was thrown off and sprained my wrist. When my brother Jon carried me back to the hold I was covered head to toe in mud and dirt because the horse had thrown me into a mud puddle. Ever since,” Sansa says softly, realizing the truth of her words as she admits them to him, the stories of her childhood that she’s never told anyone before, “I just never wanted to ride horses.”

“That is a terrible mishap,” he agrees, “but it should not stop you from riding a horse,” he tells her, catching the hand that held her brush and slowing her movements, “slower,” tells her gently, “not only are you knocking the dust from his coat you’re smoothing it out.”

“Oh,” Sansa blushes, “I see.”

“Come,” he tells her after a moment, “If you will permit me, I will show you how to ride a horse properly.”

“I…” Sansa says softly, wondering how exactly she managed to pull this off just now, “I would be honored.”

               They start out slow, on one of the gentler destriers. Sansa is trying very hard to hold the reins and not tremble. Oberyn leads the horse around the pen, instructing Sansa how to give the horse directions. After a while she gets it, and she’s trotting in circles around the pen while Oberyn stands in the center, watching approvingly.

“Good,” he says with a nod, “good.” She watches him mount his own horse and he motions for her to follow. “I want to see the apple orchards your husband talks about so much, would you mind showing them too me?”

This was going to be easier than she thought.

“Of course,” Sansa says, guiding the horse into a light trot down the old dirt road towards the orchards. She’d never actually seen them before herself, she only knew the way to them. She wasn’t keen on riding for so long either; she was sitting like a man on the back of a horse with her dress fluttering about her ankles. It was exactly the most elegant of ways to sit a horse, but Oberyn insisted that for her to keep a good command on the horse she needed to be secure. The whole reason she fell off last time was probably because she was sitting side saddle. By the time they reached the orchard she was sore and smelt of horse, just like she imagined she would. It isn’t all that embarrassing though, he smelt exactly the same way she did. He helps her down from the horse, his warm strong hands catching her by the waist and helping her slide down.

               They walk together under the shade of the apple trees, Oberyn reaching up to pluck an apple for each of them. The day is warm and the air is sweet, and Sansa is unsure of how to proceed now. She’s suffered sore thighs and the stench of horses and endured the dirt and dust on her gown when she groomed one. Now she probably looks completely disheveled, and this was not going the way she planned at all. He is singing softly under his breath, and she listens to the way he rolls the vowels of each word with his tongue. His accent makes the song sweeter, and she recognizes the tune. She jumps in half way, singing along softly with him. He smiles as he sings; a twinkle of mirth in his eyes as they drop down under the shade of an apple tree to relax for a while.

“You know the song?” he says with a smile, watching her enjoy her apple.

She nods with a smile, wiping the juice from her bottom lip before answering, “I probably know every single one of the old valerian songs, especially the ones from the Age of Heroes. It was a hobby of mine when I was younger. I heard the tune and I couldn’t help but join in, that song is one of my favorites.”

He nods in agreement, “As it is mine,” he tells her, pulling a jeweled dagger from his boot and slicing the apple in his hand into quarters before continuing, “Do you like to write music as well?”

“I must confess I’m better at poetry than song writing,” Sansa tells him, offering up her own apple to his outstretched hand so he might cut hers up as well, “I’m afraid I must leave the song writing to the Valerian’s.”

“I write music,” He admits, “I started in my youth as well,” he tells her, popping an apple slice into his mouth, “would you like to hear one?”

Sansa nods politely, making every attempt not to seem too eager despite how interested she really was, “That would be lovely.”

               When he sings she can’t help but smile. This man for all his reputation and presentation was a romantic. It reminds her of the poetry she used to write about the winter roses in bloom that surrounded Winterfell during the summer snows. When he finishes she claps, a smile blossoming on her lips, “That was very good.”

“I am in love with love,” he admits with a smile, his obsidian gaze flickering over the orchard before them, “I am a man of many interests.”

“So I see,” Sansa admits and blushes at the way her words could have implied other things. She studiously avoids his mirthful gaze, instead watching the horses nearby as they graze upon long tendrils of green grass.

“Does Willas not sing for you?” he asks, proffering the last of his apple slices to her. She takes it kindly and savors the sweet taste of it in her mouth.

“No,” Sansa tells him softly, “Willas loves his horses and his hawking. He loves his management of Highgarden…but he spares me no time for singing. I don’t think Willas is quite the man to be interested in such things.”

“Every husband should sing to his wife,” Oberyn grins a little, watching her watch him, “I must ask him about this. He has a lovely voice.”

“He _does_ sing then?” Sansa says with a grin, looking down at Oberyn as he reclines on his side beside her.

“In our youth we used to serenade beautiful women together,” Oberyn muses, “but it has been a long while since I have heard my dear friend sing.”

“We must convince him to sing for us then,” Sansa says conspiratorially, “If he will listen to anyone I think he shall listen to you.”

“I think we could convince him,” he tells her with a charming smile, sighing as he reclines back into the grass, “this place reminds me of home in the summer.”

“Oh?” Sansa asks curiously, letting him pull her down into the grass beside him.

“Look there,” he muses aloud, pointing towards the trees, his arm pillowed beneath her neck. She feels awkward lying beside him like this, but suppresses the urge to move. He is pointing to a bird fluttering in the tree, a bird with yellow orange feathers mingled with black, “that is an _Icterus spurius_ or more commonly known as…”

“And Orchard Oriole,” Sansa smiles, preening at her own intelligence for a moment. She was quite proud that she knew that answer.

“Very good,” he grins, their faces now level with each other. “You _have_ been practicing.”

“I would like to be a Lady of the Roses in truth as well as title,” Sansa tells him softly.

“The most beautiful rose of them all,” he agrees, suddenly very close to her face. She isn’t entirely sure what to do in this situation; she doesn’t know where this is going. The arm that is pillowed beneath her head bends at the elbow, his strong fingers curling in her hair, brushing it back away from her face while his right hand cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt. He is so close to her face she can feel his warm breath, sweet with the taste of apples. His obsidian eyes are depthless, and she feels she could drown in them. He is staring at the soft plump of her lips as she turns her chin up towards him, throwing caution to the wind as he leans up and closes the distance between them. It is terrifying at first, her heart hammering in her chest. She was so inexperienced in this that she feared she would make a fool of herself. At first the kiss is light and sweet; the way Willas kisses her in the dark of their bed chambers. Then she feels his tongue, sliding against her lips, begging for entrance. When she complies she doesn’t know what to expect, she’s never been kissed like this before. It sends a thrill racing through her blood to kiss him like this, there is warmth in his touch and passion in his kiss. Her hand cups his cheek, fingers carding through the short hair of his beard.

               The hand that held her cheek slid down to her waist and held her close to him, his tongue sliding against hers in a carnal dance. When they break apart she is flushed and her heart is racing, just kissing him made heat pool between her thighs. He is still so close to her she thinks, fingers tracing her cheek bones and curling in her hair. He presses lighter kisses, feather soft against the tip of her nose and the corners of her lips. She wants him to kiss her again, and he chuckles in response to her earnestness, indulging her once more.

               When they return later that evening she is winded and a thrill races through her blood. Inside the castle it is cool and airy, the doors and windows have been thrown open to let in the evening breeze. The hem of her gown is black with dirt and mud and her hair is in disarray but she can hardly care.  It doesn’t stop her from changing quickly however, and taking a hot bath before the evening meal. The last thing she needed was to show up at dinner looking like she’d slept in the stables all day.

               Dinner is quiet, just the four of them supping on roast duck with sour dornish wine that Oberyn brought along with him as a gift to Willas, and lemon cakes, curtsey of Oberyn as well. Dorne was notorious for its lemon orchards, and he’d brought several crates with him for Willas, as a bridal gift to Sansa. Sansa had been flattered of course, she wasn’t sure how he knew of her fondness for lemons but she imagined that Willas probably told him at some point.

               When they retire for bed, Sansa is exhausted. She falls into a dreamless sleep before Willas even retires for the night, and in the morning he is nowhere to be found either. He’d set off before dawn with Oberyn to go on a long ride into Old town, and so it left Sansa alone with Ellaria for the day.  They spend the day in the gardens and out by the lake; swimming was a luxury Sansa was still getting used to. As the days go by she begins to wonder if what had happened in the orchard was a fluke, and that it will never happen again.

               She thinks he is avoiding her now, he is constantly occupied. Finally when she has all but given up the endeavor all together he surprises her with a gift. He has written her a song, and after reading it she can’t stop the smile curving her lips. It was just like in the stories she read as a child, the handsome prince writing her love songs.

“I loved it,” Sansa tells him one crisp morning as she works at tending to a rose bush, deft fingers clipping off the dead rose buds from one of the bushes, “it was beautiful.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he smiles, watching her work, “are you going to be busy all day?”

“I might be,” Sansa says slyly, “what might you offer to sway my opinion?”

He grins wolfishly at her, and she swallows thickly. It was a lewd question she realizes, and she had a tendency to make everything sound lewd every time she talked to him. It wasn’t even done on purpose it just _happened_ , and it was rather frustrating. “It depends what the lady wants,” he says as he steps up behind her, his hands grazing her waist lightly.

She straightens and turns to face him, peering up at him thoughtfully, “I really don’t know how to answer that question.” This was all new to her, and she imagines he can see that in her face. He dips his head and kisses her, and she all for kissing him back. In the back of her mind she can hear that little voice screaming about _propriety_ and _what if the servants see you_ , but she doesn’t really care right now. He kisses her the way she’s always dreamed of being kissed, and she likes it.

 


	6. A Rose in Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of it or make any money from any of it. All of it belongs to those who created Game of Thrones.

The first time they are intimate, there is no sex. He redefines intimacy for her in a way she didn’t know existed before. He is a good teacher though, and she a studious student. He starts slowly; they spend time in the gardens, kissing among the flowers, talking about the world and the adventures he’d been on. At first he is gentle and through, his warm hands cup her breasts and press her body close to his, though his fingers never touch bare skin. She is too shy to touch him at first; her fingers graze his shoulders and card through his hair. Until one day he catches her hands and presses them against his chest, whispers encouragements under the warm afternoon sun while he nips and sucks at the base of her neck, where her throat and shoulder meet.

               Willas never did these things with her; he was never so passionate in his love. In fact she surprises him one evening when she tries to use what she learned from Oberyn on Willas. He seemed to like it too, much to her pleasure. There was a fire in his eyes she’d never seen before when he looked at her and a passion in his lovemaking that was different than what she was used to. On the days that follow the intimacy she shares with Oberyn grows steadily heavier, until one day she feels his warm hands sliding up under her skirts, skimming the tender flesh of her inner thighs. At first she wants to protest, she thinks she might be going a tad bit too far in her dalliances. Her thoughts are quieted at the feel of his lips nipping at her thighs, the image of his head disappearing under her skirts makes the wetness pull between her thighs.

“You are wet for me,” she hears him murmur, and she blushes such a bright red she was sure to rival the crimson color of the roses around her. She has only ever felt Willas slide his fingers against the tender pearl between her legs, stroking it until she is panting. When Oberyn does the same she feels the same, and yet different. His fingers are warm and thick pressing into her, and she gasps at the sensation. When he slides his tongue over her pearl along with the slow pushing and pulling sensation of his finger inside of her she thinks she sees stars in the afternoon sky. No man has ever done this too her, and she blushes at the faint chuckle she hears under her skirts, the vibration of his chest humming against her thighs. “You cum so easily for me,” he says against her flower, “Willas has been neglecting you I think.”

               He does it again, this time curling his finger inside of her, the friction unbearable. The second time she covers her mouth to muffle the moan threatening to bubble out of her. Willas has _never_ made her feel like this.  By the time they head back into the house her legs are like jello and she finds it difficult to keep her mind from what happened earlier. Later that evening as they eat supper Willas discusses the desire to take Oberyn out hawking with him, a truly boring subject. Sansa tries to be the gracious host and smile for her husband, indulge him in his fancies.  At this point though, Sansa would rather suffer one of septa Mordane’s long winded speeches about modesty than this.

               She doesn’t notice it at first, but it catches her eye eventually. It was the way he ate his dessert, the way his tongue rolled over the spoon as he spoke to Willas. He was such a _flirt_ , she thinks to herself. Willas is transfixed by it, though his long speech about hawking is not impeded. She decides to have a little fun of her own, biting slowly in the sweet red center of a strawberry. She savors the flavor, lets the sugar roll over her tongue. She neatly wipes the juice from her chin with her forefinger, and then sucks the flavor from the tip of her finger. It was very hard not to smile triumphantly, watching Willas’s gaze shift between her and Oberyn.

If she didn’t know any better, Oberyn was grinning behind the rim of his glass too.

           

* * *

   

“Look at you two cock teases,” Ellaria scolds Willas and Oberyn lightly as they lay sprawled across the guest bed, the sheets rumpled and the balcony doors thrown open to let in the warm night breeze. “Oberyn was sucking on that spoon like he held your cock in his hand and your lady wife was practically seducing you over the table. What did I get eh?” Ellaria smirks at the two of them, “I got to watch while your wife and my lover fought over our Willas.”

“Nonsense,” Willas laughs, “Sansa wouldn’t…she’s not…she _wouldn’t_ …”

“Oh I think she _was_ ,” Ellaria says, “She was staring at you so intently I thought your table napkin might catch fire.”

“Speaking of which,” Oberyn muses aloud as he smacks his lover’s backside playfully, watching Willas roll over onto his stomach, “you have been neglecting her I think.”

“Neglecting her?” Willas raises both his eyebrows, “I tend to her every need. She need only ask me and I…”

“That,” Oberyn says, “is not what I am referring too. I have no doubt you take care of her…but do you _please_ her?”

“Sansa isn’t much for…creativity in the bedroom,” Willas says hesitantly, “has she said something to you?”

“She might have startled the horses the way she moaned for me,” Oberyn tells him, “have you never kissed her flower?”

“Willas,” Ellaria scolds lightly, swatting his arm playfully, “is that true?”

“She’s never asked me,” Willas confesses, “when we married she seemed so very… _proper_ …I never imagined she’d want anything like that. I thought I might offend her if I tried.”

“Offend her?” Ellaria says incredulously, “what woman would be _offended_ by you wanting to please her?”

“To be honest,” Willas admits after a long silence, staring up at the ceiling with one arm thrown over his face, “I never thought she’d actually let you do that to her Oberyn.”

“She was very hesitant,” he agrees, “Almost skittish…It took a while for her to trust me.”

“I should go to her,” Willas says softly, “she’ll probably be wondering when I am coming to bed.”

“Why does she not come _here_?” Ellaria asks, “We will not bite,” Ellaria grins at Willas before adding, “Unless she wants us too.”

“Exactly why she won’t,” Willas laughs a little, kissing both firmly on the lips before climbing out of bed and pulling on his clothes.

 

* * *

 

Just a little closer, she thinks to herself. Behind her eye lids she can almost feel him, the way his mouth curled against her flower. Her fingers stroke feverently, rolling the pearl between her legs as she bites her lip and leans her head back against the backboard of her bed.  She is so close, she thinks, a little moan escaping her lips. What did it matter if anyone heard her now? She was in her room and nobody was going to think anything of it. A little harder, she thinks, angling her hand, pushing deeper, curling her fingers. It was impossible to get the angle just right, but she was almost there…

“Sansa?” Willas’s voice carries in the dark and she freezes at the sound of it.

“Willas,” Sansa blushes, burrowing down beneath the blankets.

“Please,” he grins at her, “don’t stop on my account.”

She stares at him for a few seconds, debating whether or not she’d really just heard him say that out loud. Then slowly she reaches down as he watches her, and strokes her pearl. He likes to watch…she thinks to herself, spreading her legs for him. Her nightgown hikes up above her thighs as she does, and he has a clear view of her pleasuring herself for him.  It was really hard to concentrate, knowing that Willas is watching her. He sits on the edge of the bed, his green eyes on the motion on her hand, until his slid across the bed and replaced hers.  It was so much better when he did it rather than her. She arches her hips for him, her pelvis thrusting against his fingers while her right hand strokes her pearl. “Oh Willas…” she moans quietly, panting delicately. He watches her come apart for him, whimpering quietly as her body shudders against his hand.

“You never said,” he whispers softly as he edges himself closer to her.

“You never asked,” Sansa tells him in reply, “I thought you didn’t want…”

“I thought _you_ didn’t want…” Willas admits and the two of them stare at each other thoughtfully for a moment before Willas adds, “Sansa…tell me what you want.”

“I want…” Sansa says softly, biting the corner of her lip as Willas pulls himself up to sit beside her on the bed. His fingers trail along her inner thigh, still wet with her pleasure. “I want this….” She says, pressing his hand to her flower, “I want this…and I want… _more_.”

“How much more?” he presses, “Sansa…I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do.”

“I don’t know,” she admits honestly, “I don’t really know anything about it Willas.”

He is thoughtful for a while as he Sansa slips into the bathroom to clean herself up. When he returns they go to sleep, and she curls against him in a way she hasn’t before. Somehow he feels that they’ve finally reached so kind of epiphany in their relationship. It was like meeting for the first time, really properly getting to know each other. He wondered how long they’d gone without really listening to one another, really communicating on an intimate level.

 

* * *

 

               In the days that pass intimacy grows between Sansa and Oberyn. She is _learning_ he thinks as he watches her, she flowers into a woman for him.  She began this without a clue as to what real intimacy was, but now she craves his closeness, craves his kisses. He’s even seen her smile at Willas, and that was definitely a good thing. It was the first time he’s ever seen them smile at each other in a way that wasn’t feigned or polite. It was genuine and real, they were truly happy around one another. The first time the fuck and he says _fuck_ just because he likes the way she flutters shyly when he says it, the way she blushes from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She blushes so very prettily, and it makes her wetter the way he talks to her, when he whispers in her ear how tightly her flower clings to his cock, the way her body ripples around his. He doesn’t try anything fancy with her, she isn’t accustomed to it.

               She is half ravenous when he takes her; he has driven her hunger into an inferno. It surprises him but in a pleasant way the way she begs him in a soft whisper, so polite and formal despite what they were doing.

“Tell me what you want Sansa,” he murmurs, leaning back to look at her. He has her dress hiked up over her hips and her legs thrown over his thighs while he sits on his knees. She is perfectly wanton looking up at him, bright blue eyes dark with lust and want, but the words that tumble out of her mouth as his pelvis moves against hers are anything but.

“Please,” she begins prettily, a well-mannered lady despite the position they were in, “ _please_ …” She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for to be honest, she arches her hips against his to push him deeper but he’s clever and playful with her, he holds back until she asks him properly.

“A lady must always keep her manners,” he tells her playfully, tsking with a shake of his head as she groans in frustration. “Tell me what you want Sansa.”

“Please,” she begs softly, panting delicately as she gazes up at him, “harder… _please_.”

               His hips move sharply and she gasps, eyes glazed over in lust as she arches up towards his thrusts to meet his with one of her own. “Is this what you want?” he says, watching the way stars start to dance before her eyes.

“Oh yes…. _please_ ….” she keens softly, “thank you.”

               He chuckles at that, so well-mannered even in the face of a good fuck. She seems to like it when he cums in her, and he is more than happy to oblige. She is a clever woman; she wouldn’t dare risk anything like this without drinking moon tea. His thumb strokes her pearl as he groans his pleasure into her, and she follows him shortly after. Afterwards they lay in the glow of it, and Sansa briefly mentions the scandal it would cause if anyone saw them like this. They were tucked away in a spare bedroom on the other end of the house, while everyone else was lodged in the other two.

               Margaery has come from Kings Landing to visit, Sansa’s dear friend. Though Sansa could hardly care at the time, being tangled together with Oberyn, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin of her smallclothes and skirts. He was half dressed and she half naked. It takes her a few minutes to lace up her corset again and tuck her breasts back beneath the neckline of her gown.  When she is certain she is proper and Oberyn is as decent as a prince of Dorne should be, he escorts her down to the great hall where the family has gathered.

“Oh Sansa!” Margaery calls sweetly, embracing her dear friend, “Oh it’s been so _long_!”

“It has,” Sansa agrees, smiling cheerfully at her sister in law, “how I’ve missed our chats dear sister.”

               They’ve brought the entire royal party with them; King Tommen is lingering behind her near the staircase. Sansa steps around her and curtsey’s politely before him, “your grace.”

“Lady Sansa,” he smiles with a nod of his head, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“As it is you, your grace,” she says politely, and then orders the servants to ready dinner and serve summer wine with fruit and cheese until it is ready. They feast and dance that night, a proper Tyrell homecoming complete with song. Sansa sings for them on Margaery’s request, and afterwards she drinks summer wine until she’s light headed and merry while Oberyn twirls her across the dance floor in some funny dornish dance she’s never heard of before.

* * *

 

               Later that night she lays naked beside Willas, his fingers trailing along her bare skin as he presses light kisses to her nipples, “Is this what you like?” he asks, exploring her body. She nods, arching up against his mouth, “yes…just… _yes_ …” she says softly. He touches and teases, watching the way she reacts and listens when she gives him instruction. He finds she is not quite the prim and proper woman he thought her to be, at least in the darkness of their bedroom when they are alone together. Oberyn has seemed to have taught her new things, because she surprises him when her mouth slides over the tip of his cock, and he is not expecting her to do that. She must have done this more than once with him he thinks, she seems to know exactly how to slide her tongue along the underside of his cock, sending a thrill of pleasure racing through his blood.

               When they are done they lay together and she curls against him happily, glowing with warmth and joy. “My love,” she says softly into the darkness.

“Yes?” he asks of her, watching her expression as she contemplates her next words, “does it bother you that I…”

“That you’ve been sneaking off with Oberyn?” he smirks down at her, kissing the top of her head, “no…I sneak off with him and Ellaria all the time.”

“I wasn’t _sneaking_ ,” Sansa says softly, “you were busy and he was…he was just… _Oberyn_.”

He laughs, “I know,” he nods, “Oberyn just has a way about him.”

“Yes,” Sansa laughs with a nod, “he just…I had no idea…”

“I was the same way,” he agrees with a smile.

 

* * *

 

               She is not keen on the way he bends her, her right leg up on his shoulder while her left dangles off the bed between his legs. It’s an odd way to lay together she thinks, the angle is different between them. It creates more friction as he murmurs encouragements, sometimes in that thick heavy accent of his that sends a thrill through her blood every time he speaks, and sometimes filthy words that make her blush. He teaches her other things, different positions, different intimacies. He is such a flirt sometimes that it makes her smile till her mouth ached from it.

               They make love on the balcony in the bright summer sunlight and she can’t stop the quiet protests. She’s terrified someone will _see_ them or hear _her_. He reclines in a chair while she faces away from him, her hands on the edge of the chair and her knees towards the back of the chair on either side of him while her feet dangle in the air near his shoulders. It’s so uncomfortable at first until he grasps her hips, urging her to rock against him, uttering filthy things and encouragements in that voice of his, that voice that seduces her every time he opens his mouth. She has no problem with the motion, eventually he is rougher with her and she loves it, the idea that anyone hearing them has completely fled her mind.

               He has made her wild she thinks, as they walk through the garden the following morning. She was no longer that timid young woman to afraid to step outside of the carefully drawn boundaries her mother had taught her growing up. She retains her manners, her politeness in the face of adversity but behind closed doors she has discovered she is a _lover_. She is wanton at times, and ravenous for love.  She wonders if Willas knows, if he knows about the different ways that she’s let Oberyn touch her, the different ways that she’s let Oberyn _fuck_ her. It’s a word that is odd in her mouth, let alone in her thoughts. She doesn't usually speak that way but it’s a word Oberyn uses with her, a word that makes her so unexplainably wet for him.

* * *

 

               When she finally decides to try something new on her own, she finds the most brave and random thing she can. She does what Willas would never expect of her, especially while she sits alone in her bedroom at night while he plays with Oberyn and Ellaria down the hall. She gets up out of bed and pulls on her small clothes and dressing gown, brushes out her long auburn hair until it shines in the candlelight and then heads towards their rooms.

               When she arrives, she hears them talking, laughter that sparks jealousy in her heart. When she steps out of the hall she looks at Willas expectantly, and he freezes on the bed, naked as his name day with Oberyn’s cock in his hand. “My love,” Sansa says expectantly, “you’ve left me all alone in our room.” She keeps her voice innocent and soft, watches as Willas slowly unhands his lover and rolls over onto his stomach to look at her.  He looks almost ashamed to be caught like this, like she’d caught him cheating on her without her knowledge.

“Sansa,” he says, green eyes wide with shock, “My lady…I wasn’t expecting you to…”

“Come in,” Ellaria cuts in, appearing from another room wearing nothing but a thin dressing gown that hides none of her nudity beneath it. “Willas you have forgotten your manners,” Ellaria admonishes, “greet your wife as is her due.”

“Um…” Willas seems completely dumbstruck, and Sansa inwardly preens. She has shocked him, though she can tell Oberyn and Ellaria are only amused. It was only a matter of time before she finally came to them.

“My love,” Sansa says, and keeps eye contact as she unties her dressing gown and small clothes, pushing them off her shoulders with a very brave and pointed stare at her husband. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh…” Willas swallows thickly, his gaze shifting over her naked body. He doesn’t seem to know what to other than hold a hand out to her, his gaze meeting hers. She takes it, lets him pull her onto the bed and onto his waiting lap. He is hard as steel beneath her, and she rides him until he is gasping with pleasure. She is not expecting Oberyn’s hands on her hips as she rides her husband in a rough and punishing rhythm, watches his expression as he groans with pleasure.

“ _Greedy_ ,” he tsks as he presses kisses to her bare shoulder, his fingers cupping her breasts, “you must share your pretty lover with us.”

“I’ve shared my pretty lover plenty,” Sansa muses to him playfully, “and my lover has not shared nearly so often as I.”

“I agree,” Ellaria chims in, “Willas has been very _greedy_ , keeping such a pretty wife from us.”

Sansa isn’t sure what to make of Ellaria. She has never kissed a woman before; she’s never let a woman kiss her flower either. Ellaria is nearly as good as Oberyn she thinks, marveling at the feel of the woman’s tongue on her pearl. They are through lovers, both of them. Sansa enjoys Oberyn almost as much as she enjoys Willas, but there was something about Oberyn that made her want to tear his clothes off and screw him on the floor of the great hall at times.

               By the end of the night the four of them are a tangle of arms and legs wrapped in silk bedding. Sansa is content curled against Willas, one arm slung across his stomach, her fingers grazing Oberyn’s side as he sleeps on the other side of Willas. Ellaria is on Oberyn’s other side, her head on his stomach as she sleeps. This is the most comfortable she’s been in ages, this is the most peaceful she’s felt in a long time. She and Willas have found each other at last. On the day that Oberyn and Ellaria leave, Sansa is sad to see them go.  They say their farewells to each other in the light of the early morning sun.

“You will come to Dorne and visit us,” Oberyn says, his kisses full of passion as always. “I will show you how the dornish make love.”

“I think you’ve shown me quite a bit already,” Sansa laughs as he nips playfully just under her chin before kissing her once more.

“And there is so much more to show you,” he says slyly with a grin as he steps away, turning to shake Willas’s hand before mounting his horse. As he and Ellaria ride away, Ellaria glances back at them and smiles, watching the way Sansa and Willas kiss and wave to their friends as they leave. Ellaria and Oberyn wave back and Ellaria smiles at Oberyn before saying “I think our work here is done.”

“Oh yes,” he grins at her, “I do love to teach people to love each other….what can I say,” he says with a shrug, a smile curving his lips as he looks at her, “I love to _love_.”

 


End file.
